“You,” she said.
He grimaced and rubbed his bicep again. “I was gonna say she could collect eggs. You’re the one with the dirty mind.”
Norah rolled her eyes. “I know you, Luke.”
“There’s plenty of things you can help out with, hon,” Lindy chimed in, completely ignoring their spat. “Besides collecting the eggs, you can also help feed the chickens, too.”
“Just don’t let Chante corner you,” Luke warned with a look that was both a warning and yet amused. “He’s got a mean streak and won’t hesitate to come at you with his spurs. Little bastard thinks he owns the place.”
“Chante?” I asked.
“The rooster,” Lindy explained.
Dumbfounded, I asked, “What kind of name isChantefor a rooster?”
Luke laughed. “Norah named him after some wild-ass cartoon she used to watch when she was little.”
She whacked him again and he snorted. “That movie was adorable. Chanticleer’s singing raised the sun every morning, and that’s exactly whatmyChante does—brings the sun up with his beautiful song.”
My mouth fell open as I stared at Norah. She wasn’t serious, was she? I heard that thing “sing” this morning, and there was nothing beautiful about it. All too suddenly I was scared to death of a freakin’ rooster namedChantewho apparently wore spurs and crowed like he gargled gravel.
Where the hell had I landed?
Minutes later, when pretty much all of the food had been consumed and I was pleasantly stuffed with all of the things I hadn’t eaten in forever, Lindy stood and walked her coffee mug over to the sink. “Well, now that everyone’s been fed and the rooster’s reputation thoroughly covered, it’s time to get to work.”
Luke pushed back from the table and stood. “Time to convince an overgrown toddler how to properly behave.” He reached his hands over his head and stretched, earning a loud crack of his back. “When I’m done with that, I’ll start working with the colt.”
I covered a laugh with my napkin, knowing that “overgrown toddler” comment was a jab at Zane—and fitting, if I did say so myself.
The screen door closed behind Luke then, leaving just us women. I stood from the table and started clearing the plates and cups.
“Norah and I are heading into town once we get all of this cleaned up,” Lindy said. “You’re more than welcome to ride along if you like.”
I set a stack of plates on the counter next to her. “Would it be okay if I stayed back? I’d love to look around a little and get a feel for the place. Maybe start helping where I can.”
“Of course,” Lindy said. “You can start small and feed the chickens. Maybe check the nesting boxes too and collect any eggs that are there.”
Norah’s eyes met mine as she rinsed out her mug. “I know we’ve been joking about him, but Chante does take his job guarding the hens seriously. So just watch your back and don’t let him bully you.”
I nodded and exhaled. “Got it. Proceed with caution around the rooster.”
“The feed’s in the metal bins in the small building by the barn,” Lindy said, rinsing off a dish and loading it into the dishwasher. “The boys’ll be within earshot if you need anything.”
A short while later, with the dishes done and Norah and Lindy heading out the door, I stepped outside and lingered on the porch for a moment, breathing in the crisp country air. Not the cow-tinged air I smelled upon first arriving in Tarnation, but scents that complimented each other. Something sweet like flowers mixed with something more earthy and musky, but not unpleasant. I breathed in deep as I let the view settle over me. It was even more breathtaking in the daytime. The pastures stretched wide, dotted with horses and lined with dark wood fencing. And off to the side, the chicken run—filled with at least a dozen or more pretty brown chickens that looked so happy to be just pecking away at the ground.
I let out a slow exhale and started down the steps, wire basket in hand and my heart having the worst time staying in my chest.
Time to meet the infamousChante.
Chapter Fourteen
Zane
I sworeunder my breath the whole walk out to the barn.
“What the hell are they thinking? Letting some random woman move in like we’re runnin’ a damn bed and breakfast for strays.” I yanked open the tack room door and grabbed a bedding fork and shovel, barely avoiding tripping over the wheelbarrow in my frustration. “Bunch of morons,” I muttered, tossing the tools in the wheelbarrow and shoving it into motion as I stormed toward the stalls.
None of it made sense. This woman just shows up out of nowhere, and now she’s playing house under my mother’s roof like she belongs here? No. Nope. Something’s off.
